


honey baby dollface

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, I am sad about the lack of body positivity in k-pop. So I wrote this thing, M/M, and now I am even more sad., not-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they're busy with preparations for their comeback for their first album, Daehyun drops seven pounds, easy, on his already small frame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey baby dollface

When they're busy with preparations for their comeback for their first album, Daehyun drops seven pounds, easy, on his already small frame. Their coordi noona tsks at him the third time they go in for a fitting and she has to tailor his pants,  _again_.

"You're so skinny!" she squeals at him, pinching the thin skin above his hip bone as she takes his measurement.

He winces.

"I can't even be properly mad. What's your secret?" She scribbles some numbers down on a notepad, pursing her lips. She has a good face shape, and knows how to dress to compliment her figure.

"Noona," Daehyun tells her, "I don't think you need to worry about those kinds of things."

She flushes, tsks again. When she takes her next measurement, along his inseam, she is silent and frowning.

.

Daehyun is obsessed with food. Anyone can tell you that. His favorite is cheesecake. He can describe with perfect clarity how the best cut of meat looks when taken off the grill at the right moment. Can take you step by step through the preparation of a traditional Korean meal.

He just doesn't really eat it.

He wonders if anyone notices. It's easy not to.

They've got busy schedules and hectic lives, running on little sleep and bottles of drinkable vitamins and energy boosters. He sneaks huge bites when they're filming, to catch it on tape, staring at the camera guiltily with a bulge in his cheeks. Even manages most of the time to keep it down.

He remembers the first time he looked down at a full plate (five pieces of tang soo yuk, four chunks of green pepper and six chunks of red, a lone piece of pineapple swimming in the sweet, sticky sauce, a pile of rice to the side), after dance practice with his new team members sitting around exhausted in the studio, spots of conversation echoing in the space, and thought, "Maybe I'm not hungry," worried about how he'd done, worried about fitting in, the city accent foreign on his tongue.

So he'd pushed the food around a bit on his plate and gave half of it to Jongup, who was next to him, and Jongup thanked him shyly and smiled and called him hyung. He woke up the next morning lightheaded and thirsty, stomach flat and arms sore from dancing, but otherwise okay.

It's been two and a half years.

.

Album promotions will gradually come to a close. His weight fluctuates. Their coordi noona notices.

"Oh, are you gaining back your fat?" She pinches at the skin above Daehyun's hip bone, no longer so thin, smiling up at him from where she's putting safety pins through an intentional rip in his pants, a last-minute addition to the costume. "Letting it out is always harder than taking it in," she continues, tugging at his waistband, probably thinking about whether or not they have the right fabric on hand if they need to make modifications.

Daehyun swallows. His tongue feels large and strange inside of his mouth. He hopes he'll be able to sing well later today. "Sorry," he says.

She laughs. 

.

Their concert series looms on the horizon and Daehyun can't sleep at night. They've never had a regular sleep schedule, anyway.

It's crazy, but the hum of the refrigerator is so loud in his ears, like a vacuum cleaner going on right outside of their door. He puts his pillow over his face, smothers his ears. His stomach pinches in hunger.

He rolls out of bed, careful not to disturb Youngjae, pulls on some socks and a giant hoodie that's probably neither of theirs and opens the door of their room, flinching when the hinges creak. 

Youngjae shifts on his bed but doesn't wake, and Daehyun escapes.

The humming doesn't stop once he's in the kitchen. It's like he can hear the machine's energy source pumping through its wires. 

He stands in front of the refrigerator. He opens the door. Shuts it. Takes a breath. Opens it again and lets it swing wide.

It's messy, he notices. Totally unorganized. How does anyone know where anything is?

He pulls out a container of day-old fried rice and puts it on the kitchen counter. Takes out the carton of eggs. The milk that's been pushed into a corner. There's grapefruit that's been cut in half and wrapped in plastic. He takes that out, too. 

There's  _so much food_. Bottles of cider and cola and little juice boxes, yogurt and leftovers and a jar of kimchi. 

It's getting cold, standing in front of the frigid blast and harsh light. He's glad he put on the socks.

The floorboards creak behind him.

Daehyun turns, his blood hot in his veins, and sees Youngjae's silhouette in the common area. He looks behind him, into the fridge.

He'd put all the bottles into two neat rows on the bottom shelf, the take-out containers into stacks, the yogurt into pairs by flavor. There's a lot of empty space now.

"What the hell are you doing up so early?" Youngjae rasps, voice still coming out of the last stages of sleep. He crosses his arms over his middle as he walks to the kitchen.

It's four in the morning. They have to be up in an hour, to get ready for their schedule for the day. "Making pancakes," Daehyun lies. "I was hungry."

The second is not really true anymore. The refrigerator has stopped ringing loudly in his ears. Maybe it had just needed reorganizing.

"Are you making them for everyone? Junhong will probably like that," Youngjae says. He sinks into one of the seats at the small table in the kitchen in the corner and promptly lays his head down.

"Sure."

Daehyun takes out all the ingredients necessary to make some simple kimchi pancakes.

Youngjae yawns. "Let me know if I can help."

"I've got it."

He makes a short stack of them, easily enough to feed a family. By the time he's putting the plate of them in front of Youngjae on the table, Yongguk has woken up and stepped into the shower, and Himchan is shuffling into the kitchen and sitting at the table with Youngjae.

"Aren't you going to have any?" Youngjae has a small piece dangling from his fingers. "It's good."

"I ate one." Daehyun smirks. It's kind of true. He'd taken a small bite to make sure it came out okay. "I know it's good."

Youngjae nods and Himchan digs in. Daehyun goes back to his room and crawls back into bed. He can nap a bit until it's time for him to take his shower.

.

It's freezing outside but in the practice studio the mirrors have fogged up and the air is sticky and warm.

"Again," their choreographer barks at the winded group of boys.

Junhong is correcting his angles in the mirror, body long and sharp. Jongup is practicing a freeze. Yongguk wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt and gets back into position.

Daehyun's head feels like it's disconnected from his body, like his brain is swirling somewhere above the rest of him. He can't quite catch his breath, and has to lean over for a bit, hands on his knees, gulping in air. 

Youngjae claps him on the back. "You okay, man?"

He's drowning. His schedule is impossible and he's double-booked for every time slot available. Later he's supposed to join Youngjae in vocal practice but he's also supposed to get into the studio with Yongguk to re-record a sound byte they're using for their first concert. Manager Kang pulls him one way and his band members pull him the other. He's supposed to be rehearsing lines for an interview they're having in a few hours but can't remember where he put them.

Every one of them is dealing with the same frantic, exhausting pace. They make it work.

"Yeah," he tells Youngjae, nodding and straightening.

For lunch earlier they'd gotten dumplings, a big, steaming, glistening pile of them. Daehyun had counted the ones he'd taken, cut up, slid onto Junhong's plate. They'd smelled delicious - fresh and greasy and fragrant.

God, he'd been so  _hungry_. He salivates even now, thinking about the smell.

But it felt good, tapping down on that hunger, crushing it. He'd done it and concentrated on that empty bubble inside of him and felt, for a little while, that he could do this.

He draws on that feeling again, and the floating, swirling sensation of being outside of his own body gradually dissipates as the choreographer counts out a beat and takes them through a four-count again, emphasizing the foot work.

Himchan is his opposite for much of the dance.

"You're lagging," Himchan tells him. The choreographer is going to play the song again for them to try. "You need to match me." 

Their eyes meet in the mirror. Himchan doesn't look angry, but his eyes are dark and faintly accusatory, and Daehyun feels bile rising to the back of his throat.

He swallows it down, stomach twisting. "Okay," he nods. "Sorry. I'll try harder."

Himchan doesn't look appeased. He glares, but by then the music has started, and they have to turn away from the mirrors for their starting positions.

.

Dinner is a bulgogi set for each of them, with rice and kimchi and pickled radishes. They sit in a circle in the studio with the door propped open so that some of the humid air can get out, popping the lids off of the dinner sets and breaking open the cheap wooden chopsticks.

Cool air rushes in from outside, raising goosebumps up and down Daehyun's arms.

They talk about the practice, the upcoming concerts, a thing a fan did recently that was really cute. Daehyun's fans are really cute. He's lucky.

"You're not going to eat that?" Himchan asks him. He's sitting next to him and halfway done with his own dinner. He chews slowly, swallows slowly. Everything about Himchan seems so precise and deliberate, from the slope of his nose to his pointed chin to his low, smooth voice.

Daehyun dangles a piece of bulgogi in front of his own open mouth. He puts it down. He says, "Where is this from?"

Himchan shrugs. "I don't know. Same place it's always from?"

"Tastes different." Daehyun hums. "Here, try." He scoops up a portion of the meat in his set and holds it up. 

Himchan leans forward and takes the bite from the end of his chopsticks. He chews with suspicion. "It tastes the same."

Daehyun raises an eyebrow. "Really?" He turns to Youngjae, who is on his other side. "Here, try mine. I think it tastes funny?"

Youngjae tries some of his, obedient, but ultimately agrees with Himchan.

"Fine, then give me some of yours." He reaches with his chopsticks to Youngjae's tray, but Youngjae covers it with both hands protectively, mouth full.

"No way. Take some of Himchan-hyung's. I'm starving."

But Himchan is already done. He smiles at Daehyun, simple and sweet. "Sorry."

It's okay. Daehyun asks a lot of questions, about the concert locations, about preparations, about the outfits they all think they're going to be forced to wear, this time around. He holds the food up to his lips and opens his mouth and is struck with another question, so he puts it back down. He tries some of Yongguk's bulgogi, and proclaims that it tastes even worse than his own, which, of course, prompts everyone else to take a bite.

When they pile their trays up to be cleaned Daehyun puts his in the middle. Junhong takes them outside to be washed and stored. 

They stand, some of them stretching, Jongup rubbing his belly, and get ready for the next item on their schedules.

Before he goes down a level to the recording studio with Yongguk (recording the sound byte had taken precedence over practice with Youngjae), Himchan touches his elbow and says quietly into his ear, "You must not have been hungry, huh?"

Cold wraps around all his internal organs and he stops breathing, just for a moment, irrational fear striking him, before Himchan chuckles and says, "But don't worry. There's so many leftovers in the fridge. Let me know if you want a midnight snack later, okay? I'll probably join you."

He thinks about that midnight snack, about the hot-cold touch of Himchan's fingers on his elbow. He's hungry, but by now it's an accustomed pain, easily controlled. He's not hungry enough to  _eat_.

.

They don't win their last music show of the promotion period.

It's all right, because they've won on the previous shows, and they're still doing well on the charts, but it's still a huge disappointment. They'd worked so hard, and their concerts begin next week.

.

Sleep won't come. 

It's crazy, but Daehyun's in front of the refrigerator and he can't stop thinking about cheesecake. He remembers how the dessert tastes, delicate and sweet and tangy. His favorite part is that bit right next to the crust, if there's a crust. He definitely prefers crust. 

He's crazy. There's a black hole where his stomach should be and its sucked up all his insides. His insides are all twisted up or missing, he doesn't know. He needs to eat, and the thought makes him sick. He'd been on a streak.

It's the middle of the night. Everyone else is asleep. He opens the refrigerator door, listening to the sucking sound it makes, like a fish suffocating on land. His stomach revolts inside of him.

He takes out the yogurt. He takes out some of the leftovers. He closes the refrigerator door and sits on the kitchen floor in the non-light.

His hands are shaking. He feels out of control. They hadn't won because Daehyun had said something stupid, and it had been caught on camera, and it had aired.

Just one, he thinks. He can do that. He can peel back the foil top of a container of yogurt and dip his finger in and suck on the sweet, viscous product. 

His stomach flips. It's not enough. 

He tips the whole container back and back and back until the yogurt is gone, into his black hole. He eats another one.

It's delicious and creamy and tastes like heaven and maybe even like sex. He digs his fingers into the nearly empty containers and drags them out and licks them clean, and then he moves on to the leftover take out.

Kimchi pancakes and cold fried chicken. He could heat them up, but he doesn't. They are perfectly salty and satisfying and just spicy enough to make him crave more. He wishes he could eat forever.

Then, suddenly, it feels like someone has plunged a knife into his chest. He coughs once, and the food he's just swallowed floats up to his throat. He seals his lips shut, rubbing at his chest, but it's no good.

He gags.

He drops the take-out box in his hands and stumbles to the bathroom, throwing the light on and trying to shut the door, gently, before diving nearly head-first into the bowl of the toilet, vomiting. 

His hands catch him on the cool porcelain seat. He vomits, and it makes a sick splash, and even when he thinks he's done, nose running and eyes watering, he keeps gagging on nothing, spitting up bile, and towards the end of it, it's tinged red. 

It hurts.

He reaches up and flushes the toilet, still on his knees.

Someone knocks on the door, and then, without waiting for an answer, pushes it open and walks in. He feels a hand on his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles, and he wishes he could melt into the tiles.

"Are you okay?" comes Himchan's tired voice. He's squatting next to him, still rubbing his back.

Daehyun turns his face away. He doesn't need Himchan to see him like this. His eyes are still watering, and his chest still hurts, and he thinks the gagging has turned into a pathetic, high hiccuping. "Yes," he whispers.

"Are you sure?" Himchan asks again. "Because you just threw up. Like, a lot."

Daehyun wrinkles his nose.

Himchan's hand stops rubbing circles and instead comes around and cups his forehead, hot and dry against his damp skin, and Daehyun shivers. "Are you coming down with something?"

"No."

Himchan stands. Water starts running from the sink. Daehyun turns to watch Himchan wetting a small towel and wringing it out. He crouches on Daehyun's other side and holds it up, raising his eyebrows.

Daehyun obligingly sits up, and Himchan drags the rough material across his face, cleaning him. 

"This is why everyone thinks I'm the mom," Himchan says wryly, a small grin on his lips. "Just because you kids don't know how to take care of yourselves." He rinses out the towel in the sink, and brings it back over and wipes it in long, smooth strokes across the back of Daehyun's neck, under his jaw, over his throat.

"Thank you," Daehyun says when Himchan stands to rinse it out again. 

"Let's get you back to sleep. Did you want to stay out here? In case you feel sick again?"

Daehyun nods. "That would be nice."

"I'll set it up."

Though he doesn't ask him to, Himchan stays with him. Their couch isn't the biggest, but neither are they, and if he curls up his knees and lays his head in Himchan's lap it's pretty comfortable, and Himchan doesn't mind sleeping like that, sitting up and head lolling, his fingers in Daehyun's hair.

.

**Author's Note:**

> <3 come play with me on tumblr: [personal](http://paperkrane.tumblr.com) and [fic](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com).


End file.
